


the tales these bones could tell

by FancifulRivers



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Chara (Undertale) Has Their Own Body, Gen, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, No Mercy Route mention, Non-Binary Chara, Non-Binary Frisk, Post-Undertale Soulless Pacifist Route, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-08
Updated: 2018-08-08
Packaged: 2019-06-23 20:07:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15614037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FancifulRivers/pseuds/FancifulRivers
Summary: Papyrus knows more than his brother thinks he does.





	the tales these bones could tell

**Author's Note:**

> I think this is the first time I've ever written from Papyrus's POV...

You aren't as innocent as your brother thinks you are.

Even down in the underground, you knew that everyone hated your spaghetti. You knew your brother only choked it down for your sake (washed down with liberal swigs of ketchup) and you loved him for it. Cooking's important to you, almost as important as the Royal Guard, and it's hard to get better when there's a decided lack of human cookbooks that fall into the dump.

It's easier now, now that the human (or should you say  _humans_ since Chara is there, too, sprouted from the soil like the golden flowers that slumbered over their grave) broke the barrier. You can find all the ingredients you could ever want, and all the cookbooks, too. You can find anything and perhaps that's the problem. You learn how to drive, over your brother's objections. He doesn't think you can handle it, but you know you can.

You know you're too loud sometimes. It's hard for you to regulate your volume, and you don't know why. It hurts Frisk's ears, but they're too polite to say it. Chara just clamps their hands over their ears or leaves the room and you try to pretend it doesn't hurt, but you know it does. You don't want to upset them, though, so you don't say anything.

You aren't supposed to know that they can reset timelines, but you do. You can remember bits and pieces. Not many, but just enough, especially when you hear them talking sometimes with your brother. You don't know why he won't talk to you about it, but you guess maybe he's just still trying to protect you.

You know about the timeline they killed everyone, too. That one you don't remember, thankfully. You heard one of Chara's panic attacks instead and you went to go and comfort them, but heard enough of their words to freeze in your tracks, and by the time you recovered, Frisk had calmed them down and you could tiptoe away without feeling too much guilt. You don't know how to feel about that timeline. You don't want to think about all your friends being dust. About your  _brother_ being dust.

But you believe everyone can do better if they just try and since you exist  _now_ and so does everyone else, you decide it doesn't matter.

(You still wake up in your racecar bed sometimes with a scream locked between your teeth.)

You aren't supposed to know humans are full of red, you don't think, but it's too late now, as you're the only one home and Chara is sitting on the kitchen table in front of you, sweater sleeves rolled up to their elbows and damp, reddened eyes squinting at you, mouth pulled into a reluctant scowl. Red- they call it blood- streaks down both arms from a handful of scattered raw lines.

"What happened, human?" You ask, because you don't know what to say, and it's as good a starting point as any. Chara snorts inelegantly.

"What do you think?" They say. "Wait, it's you. Don't answer that. I did it myself, duh."

"Why?" You ask. Your tone is gentle and as soft as you can make it, but they flinch anyway. You hope it's not from the antiseptic wipes you found in the first aid kit.

"I dunno," they say, shrugging. "Frisk's not here. Got bored."

"You can always come to me when you get bored," you tell them. "We can solve a puzzle! Or watch a movie! Or play a-"

"I get it," Chara interrupts. They roll their eyes, but you think you can see a smile peeking through. "You're- you're not mad?" They look up at you through their eyelashes, fidgeting.

"Why would I be mad?" You ask, honestly confused. "You are hurting. It would be- unbecoming of the great Papyrus to be mad at you for trying to stop your hurting."

Chara's eyes widen.

"Okay then," they say. 

You affix several neon-colored band-aids over their arms. They're a bit messy, but Chara smiles at them anyway.

"Come on then," they say, sighing. "What did you say about puzzles?"


End file.
